JIMMY SMOTHERS: Varner takes Bryant stories to his grave

By JIMMY SMOTHERSTimes Sports Editor Emeritus

Published: Saturday, October 6, 2012 at 6:01 a.m.

Last Modified: Saturday, October 6, 2012 at 11:57 p.m.

COMMENTARY

It was at the 1982 Liberty Bowl in Memphis and Paul Bryant was to coach his last game for the Alabama Crimson Tide. It was a strange setting because everyone knew that an era was coming to an end. The atmosphere at the motel where the team and media were housed was akin to that in a funeral home. Everyone remembered the good times of the past. No one knew what the future held, and not much was being said.

One thing that had not changed was an invitation to a dozen or so writers who covered Alabama for their respective papers. We were to meet with coach Bryant in his 14th-floor suite of the Memphis Holiday Inn. This had become a bowl game tradition with Bryant during his tenure with the Crimson Tide.

A knock on the door was answered by Billy Varner, which also was a tradition. The big barrel-chested black man had been by Bryant’s side day and night for some 20 years. He was almost as familiar to the players, the writers and the fans as the coach himself. Wherever you saw one, you saw the other, whether it be on the sideline, in the office, on the road or around home.

Billy drew the same kind of respect and admiration as any other member of Bryant’s staff.

No one knew exactly what his title was or in what capacity he was listed on the official list of university employees. He was Bryant’s body guard, driver, valet, gofer, caretaker, confidant and friend. He did it all, except initiate conversation. Sometimes the coach wanted to talk, sometimes he didn’t.

Bryant trusted no one more than he did Billy. Linda Knowles, Bryant’s longtime secretary, has been quoted as saying that even Mrs. Bryant didn’t know the coach as well as Billy did.

That day in Memphis, Billy stood by with a watchful eye as Bryant talked to the reporters, reminiscing about the past. He pointed out the window to the bridge over the Mississippi River that separated Tennessee from Arkansas. He told about walking across that bridge as a youngster, carrying a paper sack with cheese and crackers to eat along the way; just as he had cheese and crackers on the table beside his chair that day.

He said, “I wonder where you guys will be a year from today. I wonder where I will be?”

He looked old, tired and sick. Billy was worried, because he knew, perhaps better than anyone else, just how sick he really was. Coach Bryant needed to rest, but before we left, Billy helped arrange a group picture, with writers standing around Bryant, who was seated on a sofa. I set my camera, focused it and handed it to Billy, instructing him about the viewfinder and the shutter. I walked over and tried to squeeze into the picture from behind. Now I wish I’d just sat on the couch with Bryant. The photo that Billy snapped that day has become a treasure to the people in the picture.

Billy rarely spoke about Coach, but that day, as we left the room he expressed his concern, saying he didn’t know what was going to happen to Bryant, because he couldn’t make it without coaching. It was almost the same thing Bryant had once told the writers when the question of his retirement started coming up. He’d grin and say, “I’d croak if I couldn’t coach”.

A month later Bryant was dead. That night Billy was at the Bryant home where family and friends had gathered. One reporter tried to interview Billy, who was told in no uncertain terms, “Billy, Papa wouldn’t want you speaking to the press.” And he didn’t. In fact, he never did, although he could have made a lot of money with movie and book deals.

I knew Billy those 20 years and enjoyed kidding with him on occasions, but I never talked with him about Bryant, knowing he would say nothing. The fall after Bryant’s death in January, I ran into Billy at a football game. He was working for the University Police Department. I mentioned setting up an interview, thinking by then he would be willing to talk.

“No,” he said, flashing that big grin, “I’m thinking about writing a book and I want to keep everything to myself until then.”

He even turned down a request to do a book for the Bryant Museum, I’ve been told.

The day Alabama announced Bebes Stallings as head coach, the athletic department was surrounded with former players, old fans and well-wishers. The occasion was almost like the second coming because Stallings had once been on Bryant’s staff and was the man everyone expected to be his successor.

The University policemen were working security and the big guy at the foot of the stairs in the lobby was Billy. He was the best man for that job because he knew the Alabama media. It was like old-home week seeing each other again, but Bryant’s right-hand man still wasn’t giving any interviews. As far as I know, he never did.

Shortly after that he had a stroke. His memory began to fade. I tried to keep up with him through Larry White, long-time sports information director, often mentioning an interest in visiting with Billy again.

“I can take you to see him, but he probably won’t remember you,” White would say. Now he’s gone. He died last Monday, and was buried yesterday.

It’s probably best I didn’t see Billy as his health failed him. I prefer remembering him from the good years, when he was big and robust, immaculately dressed; had a pleasant smile and usually silent, also standing near Coach.

I remember him helping Bryant cook steaks and feed the writers at Kowliga Beach; driving Bryant to Pine Harbor for a Sports Writers Association outing, assisting the ailing coach into the car that night and driving him back to Tuscaloosa; tending bar at Bryant’s media golf tournament and helping with the prizes afterwards. There’s also memories of chatting with him on the sideline during practice at bowl games, and of seeing him around Bryant’s office when I’d go down for press conferences.

Billy was there with the man called Bear during all the good times and the few bad. He would pick him up early in the morning, take him home late at night and be at his beck-and-call during the time in between; and always available if he got a phone call during the wee hours of the morning. That’s what happen that fatal day. He was at home in bed asleep when the call came that Bryant was ill and needed to be taken to the hospital.

I don’t know what life after death holds, but I think that paradise for Billy just may be reconnecting with Bryant, and spending eternity standing around and watching over that guy in the houndstooth hat.

Times Sports Editor Emeritus Jimmy Smothers camn be reached at jmmyS1@aol.com. His book, “The Game,” can be purchased at The Gadsden Times’ customer service desk.

<p class="bold allcaps">COMMENTARY</p>
<p>It was at the 1982 Liberty Bowl in Memphis and Paul Bryant was to coach his last game for the Alabama Crimson Tide. It was a strange setting because everyone knew that an era was coming to an end. The atmosphere at the motel where the team and media were housed was akin to that in a funeral home. Everyone remembered the good times of the past. No one knew what the future held, and not much was being said.</p><p>One thing that had not changed was an invitation to a dozen or so writers who covered Alabama for their respective papers. We were to meet with coach Bryant in his 14th-floor suite of the Memphis Holiday Inn. This had become a bowl game tradition with Bryant during his tenure with the Crimson Tide.</p><p>A knock on the door was answered by Billy Varner, which also was a tradition. The big barrel-chested black man had been by Bryant's side day and night for some 20 years. He was almost as familiar to the players, the writers and the fans as the coach himself. Wherever you saw one, you saw the other, whether it be on the sideline, in the office, on the road or around home.</p><p>Billy drew the same kind of respect and admiration as any other member of Bryant's staff.</p><p>No one knew exactly what his title was or in what capacity he was listed on the official list of university employees. He was Bryant's body guard, driver, valet, gofer, caretaker, confidant and friend. He did it all, except initiate conversation. Sometimes the coach wanted to talk, sometimes he didn't.</p><p>Bryant trusted no one more than he did Billy. Linda Knowles, Bryant's longtime secretary, has been quoted as saying that even Mrs. Bryant didn't know the coach as well as Billy did. </p><p>That day in Memphis, Billy stood by with a watchful eye as Bryant talked to the reporters, reminiscing about the past. He pointed out the window to the bridge over the Mississippi River that separated Tennessee from Arkansas. He told about walking across that bridge as a youngster, carrying a paper sack with cheese and crackers to eat along the way; just as he had cheese and crackers on the table beside his chair that day.</p><p>He said, “I wonder where you guys will be a year from today. I wonder where I will be?”</p><p>He looked old, tired and sick. Billy was worried, because he knew, perhaps better than anyone else, just how sick he really was. Coach Bryant needed to rest, but before we left, Billy helped arrange a group picture, with writers standing around Bryant, who was seated on a sofa. I set my camera, focused it and handed it to Billy, instructing him about the viewfinder and the shutter. I walked over and tried to squeeze into the picture from behind. Now I wish I'd just sat on the couch with Bryant. The photo that Billy snapped that day has become a treasure to the people in the picture.</p><p>Billy rarely spoke about Coach, but that day, as we left the room he expressed his concern, saying he didn't know what was going to happen to Bryant, because he couldn't make it without coaching. It was almost the same thing Bryant had once told the writers when the question of his retirement started coming up. He'd grin and say, “I'd croak if I couldn't coach”.</p><p>A month later Bryant was dead. That night Billy was at the Bryant home where family and friends had gathered. One reporter tried to interview Billy, who was told in no uncertain terms, “Billy, Papa wouldn't want you speaking to the press.” And he didn't. In fact, he never did, although he could have made a lot of money with movie and book deals.</p><p>I knew Billy those 20 years and enjoyed kidding with him on occasions, but I never talked with him about Bryant, knowing he would say nothing. The fall after Bryant's death in January, I ran into Billy at a football game. He was working for the University Police Department. I mentioned setting up an interview, thinking by then he would be willing to talk.</p><p>“No,” he said, flashing that big grin, “I'm thinking about writing a book and I want to keep everything to myself until then.”</p><p>He even turned down a request to do a book for the Bryant Museum, I've been told.</p><p>The day Alabama announced Bebes Stallings as head coach, the athletic department was surrounded with former players, old fans and well-wishers. The occasion was almost like the second coming because Stallings had once been on Bryant's staff and was the man everyone expected to be his successor.</p><p>The University policemen were working security and the big guy at the foot of the stairs in the lobby was Billy. He was the best man for that job because he knew the Alabama media. It was like old-home week seeing each other again, but Bryant's right-hand man still wasn't giving any interviews. As far as I know, he never did.</p><p>Shortly after that he had a stroke. His memory began to fade. I tried to keep up with him through Larry White, long-time sports information director, often mentioning an interest in visiting with Billy again.</p><p>“I can take you to see him, but he probably won't remember you,” White would say. Now he's gone. He died last Monday, and was buried yesterday.</p><p>It's probably best I didn't see Billy as his health failed him. I prefer remembering him from the good years, when he was big and robust, immaculately dressed; had a pleasant smile and usually silent, also standing near Coach.</p><p>I remember him helping Bryant cook steaks and feed the writers at Kowliga Beach; driving Bryant to Pine Harbor for a Sports Writers Association outing, assisting the ailing coach into the car that night and driving him back to Tuscaloosa; tending bar at Bryant's media golf tournament and helping with the prizes afterwards. There's also memories of chatting with him on the sideline during practice at bowl games, and of seeing him around Bryant's office when I'd go down for press conferences.</p><p>Billy was there with the man called Bear during all the good times and the few bad. He would pick him up early in the morning, take him home late at night and be at his beck-and-call during the time in between; and always available if he got a phone call during the wee hours of the morning. That's what happen that fatal day. He was at home in bed asleep when the call came that Bryant was ill and needed to be taken to the hospital. </p><p>I don't know what life after death holds, but I think that paradise for Billy just may be reconnecting with Bryant, and spending eternity standing around and watching over that guy in the houndstooth hat.</p>
<p class="italic font120">Times Sports Editor Emeritus Jimmy Smothers camn be reached at jmmyS1@aol.com. His book, “The Game,” can be purchased at The Gadsden Times' customer service desk.</p>